I feel alive in New York. More alive than when I'm anywhere else, actually, even though statistically speaking I'm much less significant. There are 12 million people hanging around these here parts, and I am a cog in a big machine, not anything large in and of myself. There's some kind of harmony in the dirtiness, in the smells and in the little inconveniences of being surrounded by so many people and so many agendas and a rhythm in being in it. And as I was walking to dinner last night I was struck by exactly how much I felt like an ant. Like one of those "scout" ants that releases a smell trail so that other ants know where to follow to find food (I was somewhat smelly from a very hot day in the prep kitchen). And yes, that could seem dehumanizing and sad to think that people are like ants, but it somehow made me feel comforted, like it's amazing to think that being so infinitesimally small is actually powerful. That yes, we may have the illusion of freewill (or maybe it's not an illusion, I don't know) and we also have consciousness, but there's gotta be something bigger, too. And I'm really happy to give the idea of my big ego and my big life a much needed vacation; they've worked some long, miserable overtime hours and I'm hopping they'll be more fun when they return with some good drinking stories and a tan.
Making jewelry and cooking both put me in the same headspace that New York does. It's my meditation. It's having a plan, and in putting that plan into motion, making hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny little movements to complete the plan. It's more rote than conscious and it's incredibly mentally quiet, though it's certainly not physically quiet-- the prep kitchen was insane with playlists of both Tool and Tejana music last week. I had to completely block that shiz out the same way I did when we had the same 45 minute music loop (including Coldplay tracks, oh joy) for six months when I was folding t-shirts at Banana Republic.
